SCOTT Walker, one of the most elusive and eccentric figures in pop music history - a man who puts donkey braying and the percussion of meat slapping into his songs - is pinned down in this embracing, wellpresented documentary by Stephen Kijak. It's an engaging study about the tug of war between fame and the solitary path of the artist.

Walker was catapulted to stardom as a member of the Walker Brothers in the late 1960s. His remarkable voice - a mellifluous croon - was immortalised in classics such as 'The Sun Ain't Gonna Shine Anymore'. And indeed, for him it didn't.

Walker, a steppenwolf figure who liked to quote Camus and namecheck the films of Dreyer and Bergman, jettisoned fame to prowl the outer limits of the avant garde - music that could best be described as the mutant fertilisation of Samuel Beckett and Jacques Brel. It's a difficult listen: director Stephen Kijak anticipates the problems of communicating the music by giving it plenty of room on the soundtrack - accompanied by some spacey graphics. It works. He also assembles a catalogue of leading musicians who testify to Walker's brilliance and influence - Brain Eno explains how Walker's input on the Walker Brother's 1978 album Nite Flights helped inspire the the electropop of the 1980s.

Walker himself takes the baseball cap off for a rare, demystifying interview and reveals a face that might have been embalmed in 1984. He tells an amusing story about a gig in Dublin in which the Walker Brothers tour bus was overturned by demented fans:

it took a brace of garda� to set it upright, while the terrified musicians were jumbled about inside.

Are We Done Yet? (Steven Carr): Ice Cube, Nia Long, John C McGinley, Aleisha Allen. Running time: 92 minutes.
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Why Ice Cube thought his wretched family outing Are We There Yet? deserved a sequel is baffling, since all it revealed was his complete ineptitude as a light comedian. Here he is again, taking the girlfriend and stepkids to live in the country - it's supposedly based on the 1948 Cary Grant movieMr Blandings Builds His Dream House - and piling through some of the lamest sight-gags ever committed to film. Only John McGinley camping it up interrupts the boredom.